


Memories

by fantasiavii



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasiavii/pseuds/fantasiavii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something was wrong.  Almost six years together had attuned Damen all of Laurent’s subtleties.  There was something off in his voice, and the way he wasn’t looking at Damen.  </p>
<p>Laurent is turning twenty-six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

The night before Laurent’s twenty-sixth birthday, Damen retired early to find Laurent was already in their bedroom. 

“Laurent?” It was unusual for Laurent to rest from working without prompting, even on a night like tonight.

“Damen.” Laurent was sitting in the windowseat, staring out into the darkness beyond the glass. He hadn’t turned around when Damen came in. Damen wondered what he was watching; all he could see in the window was Laurent’s reflection. Laurent held a goblet in one hand and a pitcher rested on a small table nearby. He took a sip from the goblet and said, “You’re early.”

Something was wrong. Almost six years together had attuned Damen all of Laurent’s subtleties. There was something off in his voice, and the way he wasn’t looking at Damen. 

Damen walked forward, scanning the room as he moved across it. Nothing seemed out of place. He came to stand silently beside Laurent.

“I can see you in the reflection you know,” Laurent said with a strange, half-done gesture towards the window. Then he looked, resolutely, down. 

“Are you all right?” Damen asked. He glanced at Laurent’s goblet, then, his pulse kicking, at the pitcher. “Laurent, this is wine.”

“Obviously,” Laurent said, some of his usual scoff in his voice, but it was blurred—by alcohol, Damen now realized. “It’s the third one too.”

Damen had a sickening feeling that he didn’t mean the goblet. He sat down in the free corner of the windowseat. Laurent still didn’t look at him, but Damen could see his cheeks were flushed. Worry knotted Damen’s stomach. Laurent still avoided alcohol most of the time and he very rarely got drunk. When he did, it was in a party setting, like the celebration after their first allied games, when there were people to out-drink and impress. Not alone like this, determinedly, like when—

“I think,” Laurent said conversationally, “I’ve finally built up some tolerance. It didn’t take me nearly this much to get drunk the first night I met you.”

Damen’s skin crawled. He said, softly, “Why?”

Laurent gave a small, bitter half-laugh. “I’m turning twenty-six tomorrow,” he said, like that was an answer.

“I don’t understand.”

Laurent took another drink from the goblet—it wasn’t a sip, it was a gulp. He said, “I’m going to outlive my brother.”

The words hit like a punch. Auguste had been only twenty-five when he died. 

“Oh, Laurent.” Damen’s heart ached.

Laurent made a sound like a choked back sob. He pressed a hand to his mouth. His next words were muffled, but Damen could still make them out. 

“I thought I could handle it.”

“Like this?” Damen asked, meaning the wine.

“If I can’t stop feeling at least I can forget it,” Laurent said and raised the goblet again.

Damen put a hand out and stopped him. “Don’t do this,” he whispered. 

“Try to stop me,” Laurent said with only a fraction of his usual venom. It was easy to take the goblet from his hand. He didn’t fight, just let his fingers relax under the steady pressure of Damen’s hand. Then Damen stood, and helped Laurent up with him.

“I’ll call off the celebrations tomorrow,” Damen said as he lead Laurent to the bed. Laurent was a heavy weight in his arms. He either could barely walk or barely wanted to. It was good they were only a few steps from the bed.

“People will talk,” Laurent said. “They’ll wonder why.” He was still impressively fluent despite being drunk, but that was no surprise.

“I’ll tell them you’re sick,” Damen said. He helped Laurent sit down on the bed. 

“Mm, sick with a hangover. I might even throw up.”

Something about his tone made Damen frown. “Are you trying to make yourself sick?”

Laurent didn’t answer, just tried and failed to take off his boot. 

Damen knelt down in front of Laurent and raised his hand to Laurent’s cheek. “Talk to me,” Damen said and he could hear the plea in his own voice. He pushed aside the hair that had fallen in Laurent’s face. Laurent still would not look at him. Damen said, “Are you punishing yourself?”

Laurent let out a huff of breath and curled forward.

“Laurent, you can’t—” Damen felt frustration rise and pushed it down. He didn’t know what to say, but he would figure out what to say. “This isn’t something you can punish yourself for.”

“Isn’t it?” Laurent asked. “I was doing a decent job of it before you came along.”

“Auguste wouldn’t want—”

_“Don’t,”_ Laurent said. He closed his eyes. “Not tonight.”

Of course. Damen cursed himself as he searched for something else to say. 

Over the years, talking about Auguste had gotten much easier. But there were still some times when the pain was too close—at a certain place or a certain date—and they were still learning.

At least this explained why Laurent wasn’t looking at him. It was something he did sometimes, when he didn’t want past to mix too much with the present. It made it easier, he said. (Though it was different when they were entwined beneath the sheets and too close to breathe—then, he wanted to know it was Damen.)

“This isn’t something you can fault yourself for,” Damen said instead.

Laurent opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. A heartbeat, then his expression crumbled, defenses dropping away. “It shouldn’t—be like this.”

“I know,” Damen said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Help me take off my boots?”

“Of course.”

Damen helped Laurent undress down to his underclothes then tucked him into the bed. He stayed until Laurent fell asleep. 

He left briefly to fetch some of the things he knew Laurent would need the next morning because Damen wouldn’t let him suffer even if Laurent wanted to. 

He also took care of the celebrations tomorrow. Laurent was right; he couldn’t call them off entirely. The entertainments planned were for the public as much as they were for Laurent. But he could make sure Laurent didn’t have to be there, so he did. Laurent’s absence would cause disappointment, but it was better than the alternative.

When Damen returned, he changed and joined Laurent in bed. He settled down a foot away from Laurent, hesitated, then moved closer. When he settled again, Laurent shifted slightly, instinctively leaning back into him. Damen exhaled slowly. 

It was frustrating, knowing he could protect Laurent from threats coming from any corner of their country, but couldn’t protect him from this. They both knew it. There was no changing the past. 

But he could make sure Laurent didn’t have to celebrate a day that caused him more grief that joy, make sure if Laurent did throw up that it wouldn’t choke him, and make sure when he woke up with a headache tomorrow morning, there was something to take the pain away. 

It still took Damen hours to fall asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! This is my first published fic for any fandom oh man.
> 
> And thank you to my sister, [midshipmank](http://midshipmank.tumblr.com/) who beta'd this at the last minute. 
> 
>  
> 
> [I'm on tumblr!](http://fantasiavii.tumblr.com/)


End file.
